Habit
by Anne Bowman
Summary: Someone reflects on a mistake he made.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters who aren't named (how, then, is this an SW fic, someone recently asked? well, I suppose it is such simply since it was written with a certain pair in mind, and because it could conceivably be about one of many combinations of characters from the show. why not?) and I also don't own "Here's the world" by Lori Carson. Thanks for reading.

_sleeplessness is good for this  
but it's a habit I would break  
if I could only learn to dream  
of things that don't keep me awake_

It's been six months now and I still haven't stopped thinking about what happened. It was a clumsy move. It was the move of the adolescent I thought had faded or was fading as adulthood drew closer. It was a move I should have tried out first on a dozen dime-valued girls, a thousand doe-eyed co-eds, before springing it on the one I thought was the One. I don't know. Maybe I just liked her because she was so unattainable--I mean, there was no way in hell that was ever gonna work out, not as close as we were. Maybe I just wanted a challenge.

_awake, awake I lie here thinking about  
the days when you were my confidante  
I could tell you anything  
back then you had a way  
of making my worries small again_

So I'm sitting here, in exile, trying to concentrate on the comfortingly monotonous printed words of a man whose opinion I'm not interested in, and even now all I can see is that look on her face, that terrible look in her eyes--the flash of hope followed by the quick mask of pity. I'm not sure why she felt sorry for me. A part of me wants to think it was because she felt it too and she knew as well as I did that it wouldn't work out, which was why she had never mentioned her own feelings. But the other part of me, the more sensible voice in my head, is telling me that it was simply because she had never looked at me that way and knew she never, ever would.

_earth to dreamer  
here's the world that you live in  
you'll be fine in the morning_

It doesn't matter now which one of us is right. We're out here alone, a little older and wiser, resigned to pulling ourselves out of whatever it was we fell into, and looking for a new place to fall. But it catches me off-guard, the memory of her. I still miss certain things about our friendship that are lost now and won't ever be regained, because I have violated the unspoken agreement that is laid down between any two platonic friends: No one crosses the line. And if it hadn't been for a moment of weakness, for that terrible second when it felt like there was only one right way to fill up the silence, I would be there now...

_oh the carelessness  
that some possess with no idea  
of what's at stake_

I look around this place sometimes and I'm amazed at how easily it happens for other people. An easy smile, a glance that's held a little too long, and suddenly love has blossomed--and when, next month, a new stranger with a mouthful of charm rides into town, love is born again. It's never happened that way for me. Maybe I'm cursed. It must be easy to set off short-lived fires if you've never known the feeling of seeing the One. Now, I know what you're thinking. He's young. He doesn't even know what he's talking about with this whole love thing. He doesn't realize how much time he has ahead of him to find the right girl, the one he _can _get. I wish you were right.

_well, I scarcely dare to speak sometimes  
how easily  
a thing can break_

I roam the streets of my new life like I'm searching for clues to how to get out, how to wake up from this fever dream. I've made friends, a few, and there have been girls, silly air-heads with nothing to say or brainy undergrads with too much to say. Most nights I simply open the door, toss the keys into the darkness, and stumble into bed without turning on a light. I'm tired and I'm trapped and I don't know what you do when it turns out that the only thing you want is the only thing you can never have. 

_earth to dreamer...  
here's the world that you live in,  
here's the world_

Tonight things are different. The door is standing open, though the lights are off, and I enter slowly, expecting the worst. I do not find the couch overturned, the drawers yanked open, the windows broken or the emergency cash raided. Instead she's sitting there, and suddenly I think I might be glad I never did find the way to wake myself up. "Come home," she says. "It's time for you to come home."

"I'm sorry," I offer, all the imaginary conversations I'd had with her in my head fading away, leaving me adrift.

"For what?"

"For what happened."

"You shouldn't be sorry. I should be."

"Are you?"

A pause, then a whisper: "Yeah."

I can't think of anything to say. This is my moment, and I can't form the words. Maybe it's for the best. She asks, "So are you going to come back?"

"I don't think I should."

"Oh."

"I mean," I plunge forward awkwardly. "You know how I feel, and you don't, so even though I'd really like to, I just don't think..."

"Who says I don't?"

"Well. You did."

"You've got to try a little harder to keep up. Didn't I just say I was sorry?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think..."

"Well, maybe you should." I can hear her smiling. And all the reasons I've constructed in my head for why I shouldn't want what I want over the last 24 weeks just slide away. Maybe the curse is lifting. 

Or maybe it's just beginning...


End file.
